She knew she should move. The thought entered her mind like a whisper that quickly got muffled by a heavy blanket of numbness. She should sit up, swing her legs over the edge of the bed. Stand. Walk. But she did none of it. The weight of her own body pressed her into the mattress.
The light in the room shifted—brightened, dimmed, brightened again. Perhaps a whole day passed, perhaps two.
Corabeth knew somewhere downstairs, there was a dinner waiting for her. There was a burning fire and a library, and a man with a book, but the thought did not make her rise.
She slept and slept some more. Occasionally, she heard footsteps in the hall. She almost called out, asked to be lifted out from underneath this endless burden. Instead, she closed her eyes and slept again.
When she next opened her eyes, there was a blaze in the fireplace, and she felt her bed dip under someone’s weight. Corabeth rolled onto her back to see Rooke sitting on the edge. He was hunched over as if he had his own burdens to carry. Corabeth wondered whose heaviness was greater.
“Are we back to this then?” he asked gently. There were no accusations in his tone.
Corabeth’s throat closed up. She didn’t want to be this way. She was prone to spells of melancholy, especially after her mother’s death, but she always managed to force herself into action out of sheer survival. But after that night…
“The ravens are asking about you. They worry,” Rooke said. It only made her feel worse.
“How can I help?” he asked, his black eyes flashing in the firelight as he looked over his shoulder at Corabeth.
“Don’t worry about me,” Corabeth said, resenting that she had become a burden.
“You helped me,” Rooke said, “So tell me. How can I help?”
With a sigh, Corabeth sat up a little, leaning back against her pillows. There was already a familiar ache behind her eyes, likely from all the excess sleeping. Or lack of food. Or dehydration. Desperately, she searched for something that had brought her joy.
“Will you read to me?” she asked.
Rooke nodded, left the room, and returned with a book mere moments later. As he angled himself towards the firelight, the flames illuminated its yellow cover. Corabeth realized it was one she had bought from town.
“And if the protagonist doesn’t get their revenge in this one, I’ll make up a new ending for you,” Rooke said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Corabeth couldn’t help but return the smile, although hers was weary and felt strange. She wondered if the muscles she used to smile could atrophy.
Sheets drawn up high, she settled in to listen.
Rooke read well into the early hours of the night, nothing but the crackling of the fire keeping them company. Occasionally, he threw in a new log, sending sparks flying up into the chimney. And the next day, it was marginally easier for Corabeth to open her eyes. A slight but urgent tapping on her window was what woke her at first.
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Taptaptap.
This time, Corabeth did sit up. She swung her legs over the bed. She stood. Walked to the balcony door that was covered by heavy curtains and threw them back. The white of the world outside nearly blinded her, shooting a sharp pain through her head.
A raven jumped back in surprise, leaving tracks in the fresh snow. Apparently, the bird’s worry had grown strong enough, prompting it to come check on Corabeth. Sadly, she had no way to know if it was the same bird from the garden. They all looked the same to her.
Corabeth opened the balcony door just a crack, afraid to let out the warmth.
“I’m alright,” she said gently and offered the raven a small smile.
The bird looked up at her with its black, beady eyes and tilted its head, regarding her for a moment. Then, it hopped closer,lowered its head, and dropped something at Corabeth’s feet. In a flutter of wings, it was gone, like an adolescent admirer dropping off a gift for his sweetheart.
Corabeth picked up the object and closed the door again. She turned it in her fingers several times before she realized it was a silver domed button. An insignificant little thing to some, but it brought a smile to Corabeth’s face.
She was still fidgeting with the button when she went to the library after dinner. Rooke was in his usual armchair with a book. This man was nothing if not consistent.
He looked somewhat surprised to see Corabeth, but his features quickly settled into something else. Relief? Content?
Corabeth’s eyes traveled down to his chest, where a row of silver buttons held closed his black waistcoat. In the middle, one button was missing.
She stifled a smile as she offered the button to Rooke. “I believe this belongs to you.”
Rooke seemed moderately baffled as he looked from the button to his own chest.
“And how did you come to possess my button?” he asked, not taking the offering.
